


(after all) you're my wonderwall

by alasse



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:42:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alasse/pseuds/alasse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski met Derek Hale when he was 7 years old, after Derek helped him scare a bully away. They became the unlikeliest of friends, and it changed everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(after all) you're my wonderwall

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Canon changes: I totally messed with the age difference between Stiles and Derek -- they’re only 3 years apart. And Peter Hale doesn’t survive the fire, hence, no reason for the Argents to move to Beacon Hills.  
> 2\. Even though Jeff Davis has already said otherwise, I’m pretending Stiles’ real name is Genim for the purposes of the story. I’m also pretending shifting/lycanthropy kicks in fully during adolescence for born wolves, for reasons.  
> 3\. My research on ADHD from the National Institute of Mental Health but I am as far from an expert as possible -- if something is off, please don’t hesitate to let me know.  
> 4\. Title from ‘Wonderwall’ by Oasis (but everyone should listen to [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0gVxRvNfFLg) Ryan Adams version which is amazing).  
> 5\. A million thanks to [goingtoqueens](http://goingtoqueens.livejournal.com) for her endless encouragement,; and to M for being amazing and going through this story bit by bit to help me make it better.
> 
> Additional warning: this story features both Stiles' mother's death and the Hale fire, which might be triggering for some.

_Beacon Hills, CA -- summer, 1999_

 

It’s not that Genim didn’t like the playground. It’s just that, well. He didn’t like the playground? 

His mom told him it was important to exercise and run around after being stuck inside with Mr. Rawles doing exercises and puzzles and everything, but Genim couldn’t really run around here without stupid Billy Jenkins and his cronies pushing him into the dirt. 

And dirt was fun -- Genim could do tons of things with dirt, like dirt cakes, and little dirt houses for little dirt people, but he didn’t like being shoved into it one bit, because even though dirt was awesome, it tasted funny. Also, his mom always shook her head and forced him into a really long bath.

So, yeah. The playground wasn’t Genim’s favorite place. And then, one day, everything changed.

“Hey, Genny…”

Genim sighed. “That’s not my name, Billy.”

“Really? Are you sure? Because you look like a _girl_ ,” Billy said, shoving him slightly.

Genim swallowed, keeping tears at bay. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before, but it was just so hard to stand up to Billy, even though his dad said he should because bullies never won.

“Oh, you’re gonna cry, crybaby? You’re gonna cry like a girl?” Billy taunted, shoving Genim again. “You’re gonna go run to your mommy? I bet you are, huh, going to your dumb mommy.”

And that, stupid Billy talking about his mom, that was what it took for Stiles to sniff away the tears and get angry. He walked into Billy’s space, shoving a finger into his chest.

“You shut up about my mom, okay?”

“Oh, really? Or what?” Billy sneered.

“Or _I’ll_ deal with you,” said a new voice that made Genim and Billy whip around.

A boy stood there -- older than them, taller, crazy black hair -- and he was staring at Billy in a way that made Genim really glad he wasn’t Billy.

“And -- and who are you?” Billy asked, eyes wide, stepping back from Genim.

“I’m his friend.”

It only took the boy one more threatening step in their direction before Billy ran off, sputtering.

Genim sniffed, rubbing his nose with his sleeve. “Thank you,” he said, looking up at the boy. 

“That was brave, standing up to him.”

Genim shrugged. “He made fun of my mom.”

“Yeah,” the boy said. “I would’ve been angry, too.”

They were both quiet for a moment, and Genim looked at the boy, considering. He was older and bigger and usually the older boys were really mean, but he’d stuck up for Genim, so maybe he was nice. Maybe he could be Genim’s friend. He’d like a friend. 

Mind made up, he took a deep breath and said, “I’m Genim Stilinksi, and I’m seven years old, and my dad’s a deputy,” sticking out a hand like his daddy taught him, because it was polite to shake people’s hands when you introduced yourself.

“It’s nice to meet you, Genim. I’m Derek Hale, and I’m ten, and my dad’s not a deputy,” the boy replied, shaking Genim’s hand carefully. 

Genim smiled, and Derek smiled back. Yay! He could definitely be Genim’s friend.

“So, uh. D’you want to play?” Genim asked. “We could, uh, we could play aliens and astronauts! Or, or, dinosaurs! Or hobbits and wizards!”

“Hobbits? You like Lord of the Rings?” 

“My dad says I can’t read it yet, ‘cause I’m not old enough, but my mom reads me The Hobbit at night because she says we can start with that until I’m older,” Genim replied. “I think she skips bits, though, because sometimes she turns the pages really quickly.”

Derek grinned. “Well, if we’re playing that, I get to be the wizard.”

“Why?” Genim asked, pouting.

“Because I’m older,” Derek said, laughing, and started running.

“No fair!” Genim yelled after him, trying to keep up. 

They played the whole afternoon, and it was the best time Genim had ever had at the playground. Derek was _awesome_. 

When it was time to leave because Genim’s mom and Derek’s uncle Peter were there to pick them up, Derek invited him over to play at his house the next day, and his house sounded way cooler than the playground. 

Genim ran over to where his mom was waiting for him and tugged on her hand. “Mom, can I go play at Derek’s house? Please?”

“Derek? Derek Hale?” his mom asked, looking in Derek’s direction, where he was getting into a car with a girl who looked just like him

Genim nodded enthusiastically. “He’s so awesome, mom! And he says he has a huge yard, and brothers and sisters and cousins, but they’re nice and they won’t push me around like stupid Billy Jenkins.”

“Don’t say stupid, Genim,” his mom said immediately, but then tilted her head, considering him. “Well. It was very nice of Derek to invite you, and you can certainly go. Just -- let me talk to his mom, okay? I think their number is listed…”

“Oh, oh, I have their number!” Genim exclaimed, pulling out the piece of paper Derek had handed him from his pocket. It was kinda wrinkled, and the corner was brown because Genim forgot it was there and shoved in a Reese’s cup Derek had shared with him. He straightened it out carefully and gave it to his mom. “Derek told me to give it to you, so you could call and everything.”

Genim’s mom smiled. “That was very thoughtful of him. Let me just give her a call and we’ll get everything settled, okay? Maybe you can go over there tomorrow after your session with Mr. Rawles.”

Ugh, Genim liked Mr. Rawles, but sitting still for so long was _hard_. At least he’d get to see Derek after! And his big yard -- maybe they could play hobbits and wizards again. Or hobbits and wizards and dinosaurs. Yeah, that sounded _awesome_. 

But Genim was totally gonna be the wizard next time, because his name started with a G, just like Gandalf.

+

Derek and Genim were inseparable that summer.

The Hale house was as big and incredible as Derek had promised, full of little nooks and crannies to hide in and build forts in, a huge yard right next to the forest, and even tunnels! It was the coolest place Genim had ever been to. 

And Derek was the best. He was a little grumpy sometimes, and quiet, but he was brave and funny, and he always, always listened when Genim talked.

Derek’s family was amazing, too -- his mom and dad played with them sometimes out in the forest, and his uncle Peter always baked cookies and muffins and pies for them, and Derek’s older sister Laura was really funny and always hugged Genim. Sometimes, when it was raining, they had to stay inside, but that was fun, too, because Derek’s aunt Rose would sit with them and tell them all sorts of incredible stories about fairies and witches and werewolves.

One weekend, the Hales invited Genim to go camping in the forest, and mom let him go after talking to Mrs. Hale for _hours_. They went hiking and swimming in a lake, and at night they sat around a bonfire and ate hot dogs and s’mores and Aunt Rose told them more amazing stories. Genim got to sleep in a tent with Derek, and they talked and talked, and just when he was about to fall asleep, Genim heard howling. 

He sat up, scared. His dad had told him there were no wolves in the forest after Genim read Little Red Riding Hood and got scared last year, but maybe he was wrong. He shook Derek’s shoulder to wake him up.

“What’s wrong, Genim?” Derek asked, sleepily.

“The howling,” Genim whispered. “Are they -- are they wolves?”

“Yeah,” Derek replied, after a moment. “But don’t be scared of them. They would never hurt you. Not ever.” 

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Derek never lied to Genim, so Genim nodded and went back to sleep. He moved a little closer to Derek, though, just in case.

It was the best summer Genim had ever had. The only bad part was that he had to go to the doctor a lot, and his mom gave him a pill every morning to help him concentrate, except it made him feel kind of weird at first, and Derek’s little cousin David said he smelled funny, until Laura shushed him and promised Genim he smelled okay. He got used to it after a while, and his mom and Mr. Rawles promised it would make school and homework easier, which was good, because Genim hated it when the teachers yelled at him. 

The Friday before school began again, Genim was over at Derek’s, and they were lying down on the grass in the yard, making up stories about the clouds.

“That’s a bunny-duck,” Genim said, pointing to the left.

“What’s a bunny-duck?” Derek asked.

“It’s a duck who got lost when he was a baby, and then he met a bunny and thought that the bunny was his mom and followed it around and everything, and so the duck grew up thinking that he was supposed to skip around, and that’s why his legs are all weird, see?” 

“Oh. Yeah, I see,” Derek replied.

Genim smiled. Derek never thought Genim was weird for making up stories, like the kids in his year. Ugh, and he had to go back to school on Monday… he really didn’t want to. What if Derek didn’t want to be his friend anymore, once he was back with his older friends? Genim looked away from the clouds and toward Derek. Maybe he should just ask -- his mom and Dr. Rawles said that when he felt curious or worried about something, he should talk about it.

“Hey, Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“School’s starting on Monday…”

Derek groaned. “I know -- we’re gonna have to do homework again. But you can come over here and do it, if you want. Laura and Aunt Rose help me, sometimes, and I’ll bet Uncle Peter will bake cookies for us if we ask him.”

Genim gaped, and sat up. “So you’ll still be my friend?”

“ _Duh_ ,” Derek replied, all grumpy-faced. “You’re my best friend, Genim.”

“Yeah. You, too,” Genim whispered.

“Good. Now lie down and tell me about another cloud.”

 

center>+++

 

_Fall, 2002_

 

“I promise I’ll always look over you, Genim. Just tell me anything, whenever you want, and I’ll be listening, okay? You won’t be able to see me, but I’ll be listening.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” his mom said. “You be good, sweetheart -- brush your teeth, take your pills, do your homework. And remember that I love you, okay?”

Genim nodded, trying to swallow back tears and failing. “I love you, too, mommy.”

His mom put a hand on his cheek, wiping his tears away with her thumb. “I know. I know you do. Now, why don’t you go outside with Derek for a minute, okay? I need to talk to your dad for a little bit.”

Genim’s dad ran a hand over his hair before leading him out of the room, where Derek was waiting, along with Laura and Mrs. Hale and uncle Peter. The moment his dad walked back inside, Genim started sobbing loudly.

“Oh, baby,” Mrs. Hale whispered, pulling him into a hug. “I’m so sorry, darling boy. I’m so sorry.”

The rest of the Hales surrounded him, hugging him and telling him he’d be okay. He didn’t really believe them, but he appreciated them trying, anyway. They’d been really nice, these past few months -- Mr. Hale drove him to his sessions with Mr. Rawles when dad couldn’t, Mrs. Hale had stayed with his mom loads of times, uncle Peter had baked through his entire recipe book, and Derek had made sure Genim was never alone. 

But they couldn’t really do anything about the cancer. Cancer sucked.

+

His mom died that night. His dad said she didn’t suffer -- she’d just gone to sleep and not woken up again.

“She’s in heaven now, son. She’s okay,” he told him, hugging him hard, both of them pretending Genim’s t-shirt wasn’t damp when his dad pulled away.

And Genim knew that he should be glad his mom wasn’t in pain anymore, that she was an angel, but he wanted her _here_. Even in pain, even with all her hair gone, lying in bed, unable to play with Genim in the yard like they used to… anything was better than her being gone.

Derek slept over, like he had every day since they found out she was sick, and he didn’t mind it when Genim cried, didn’t mind it when he screamed… Derek was just there.

In the morning, when they were getting ready for the funeral, Genim decided something.

“You ready, Genim?” Derek asked, tugging at his tie.

“Stiles.”

“What?”

His mom had picked Genim. His dad had hated it, apparently, but his mom had read this book in college once, where it said that Genim meant someone who was active and smart, and she thought it was a special, unique name, one that she wanted for her special little boy, so she fought until she won the argument. 

But she was gone. So he couldn’t be Genim anymore, couldn’t be her special little boy. 

“Call me Stiles.” 

When he was younger he’d had a hard time with his last name, and he used to say he was Genim Stiles, instead of Stilinksi. So Stiles would work.

Derek looked at him for a moment, and then nodded. “Okay. You ready, Stiles?”

“Yeah.”

No.

“You look good, son,” his dad said from the doorway, trying to smile. 

He’d probably heard what Ge- what Stiles had told Derek, probably understood even better.

“Thanks, dad,” Stiles replied. “You, too.”

“Come on,” he said, extending a hand, like Stiles was five years old again.

And Stiles took his dad’s hand, squeezed it hard, because somehow he knew he’d never feel like he was five years old ever again, not after today.

+++

  
_  
Summer, 2003  
_  


 

“So, are you scared about Monday?” Stiles asked, idly kicking his feet in the water.

They were hanging out by the lake while the rest of the Hales went for a hike. Stiles loved the annual camping trip -- it was the best part of the summer. Well, along with getting to hang out more with Derek.

“Why would I be scared?”

Stiles shrugged. “You’re starting high school. Isn’t that kinda scary?” 

The kids in high school seemed so old, and Derek would have to go to a whole different school. Stiles was only just getting used to where all the classrooms and bathrooms were now, and he knew most of the teachers and the teachers knew him, and they didn’t yell anymore when he got distracted or when he had to stand up and walk around the room for a bit. The idea of having to do it all over again was awful.

“I’ll be okay, I think,” Derek replied. “Laura started two years ago, and she’s okay.”

“I guess,” Stiles said, doubtful. 

If you asked him, ever since high school, Laura had gotten a little weird. She missed a couple of days of school every month to go camping with her uncles and her older cousins, but Mr. and Mrs. Hale didn’t seem to mind at all, and she always came back looking wired and tired at the same time. Still, if Derek wasn’t worried, Stiles figured he shouldn’t mention it. 

He glanced over at Derek, who trying to fix uncle Robert’s fishing rod -- Stiles had accidentally stepped on it yesterday. Nobody had been mad, though, they’d just laughed. Derek was just trying to fix it because he liked fixing things. 

“So, uh. Will you still be my friend, even though you’re in high school?”

Stiles was pretty sure about the answer, but he still couldn’t keep himself from asking.

“ _Duh._ ” Derek replied, looking up from the fishing rod, eyebrows all scrunched together. The classic Derek grump face. “You’re my best friend, Stiles.”

Stiles smiled. “Yeah. You, too.”

Lots of things had changed, last year, most of them for the worse. But at least that hadn’t. 

In the end, Derek wasn’t _that_ okay when he started high school -- he was a pain in the ass for about a month, and then uncle Robert and uncle Peter took him camping one weekend along with all the older kids, and Derek went back to being his old self, mostly. 

Except for the monthly camping thing he did, which was never not weird, but, well. _Hales._

+++

  
_Spring, 2005_  


 

“Yes! I win!” 

“No!” Derek groaned, leaning back into the couch. “How do you always beat me?”

Stiles grinned. “I will never reveal my secrets. Just admit it, Derek -- I am the king of Mario Kart.”

“You’re definitely _something_ ,” Derek said, grinning back, eyes bright.

Stiles looked down, feeling himself blush. Ugh, he hated this. He just -- he’d been feeling a little weird around Derek, lately, like he couldn’t stop himself from thinking _things_ about him -- like that he was cute. Not like Lydia Martin was cute -- she had really shiny, strawberry blonde hair, she always smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, and she always knew all the answers to teachers’ questions -- but, well. Derek had the best smile, and he gave the best hugs. And there was nobody in the world that Stiles felt as comfortable with. 

But Stiles didn’t really understand what that meant. Derek was his best friend ever -- could he really be his boyfriend, like Jackson Whittemore was Annie Randolph’s boyfriend? He didn’t think it worked like that.

And, anyway, Derek had a _girlfriend_ now, apparently.

“Stiles? What’s up, space cadet?” Derek asked, nudging him in the side.

Stiles realized he’d been quiet for a while. “Uh, nothing.” Derek still looked unconvinced, and Stiles cast around for something to distract him with. “So -- Kate, huh?”

“What? How did you hear about Kate?” Derek asked, sitting up, alarmed.

“Laura told me,” Stiles replied. “Don’t be mad at her. I just -- I came over yesterday and you weren’t here, and she kinda let it slip.”

It had been the first time Derek hadn’t been around to do homework with Stiles in forever, and even though Laura invited him to stay anyway, Stiles hadn’t really felt up to it. He’d called his dad and asked him to pick him up, and he’d done his homework at the station. It had been fun -- Deputy Barnes turned out to be really good at math, and he conned Mrs. Anderson into buying him a double-serving of curly fries -- but not as fun as doing homework with Derek. 

Stupid Kate.

“Oh, right,” Derek said, biting his lip and looking kinda constipated, which was Derek’s standard guilt face, as established by the time he accidentally pushed Stiles into a tree last year. Stiles hadn’t really minded, even though it had been a little weird how strong Derek got all of the sudden, but Derek had been super freaked -- he’d even gotten uncle Peter to bake Stiles cupcakes, all for himself. “I’m sorry about that, Stiles, I… I just. This is gonna sound horrible, but I got distracted? I’m really, really sorry. I promise it won’t happen again.”

And Stiles wanted to stay mad a little longer -- maybe even score another batch of cupcakes -- but Derek looked so distraught that he couldn’t. 

“It’s okay. I guess it happens. You should see how stupid Jackson Whittemore acts around Annie.”

Derek smiled, clearly relieved. “Are you saying I’m stupid?” 

“Weeeell…”

“Wrong answer, buddy!” 

And with that, Derek pounced, engaging in truly unfair tickle warfare.

+

Regardless of what Derek had promised, it _did_ happen again.

Over and over. It was like, suddenly, the friend Stiles had known for years had turned into Bizarro Derek: always distracted, moodier than when he started high school, ditching school (according to Laura), and talking back to his parents all the time, even when Stiles was right there, which, awkward. 

Stiles didn’t know what to do. He was constantly torn between anger at his best friend suddenly acting worse than stupid Billy Jenkins ever did and honest worry, because this wasn’t like Derek. 

“Don’t worry, Stiles,” uncle Peter told him. “He’ll get over this in no time. It’s his first love -- he’s contractually obligated to act like an idiot about it. Now, have a cookie.”

“Peter, don’t swear,” Mrs. Hale chided. “But he _does_ have a point, Stiles, dear. You should have seen uncle Robert when he first fell in love… he didn’t stop talking about Andrew for days at a time. It was ridiculous.”

“And he was always distracted,” uncle Peter added. “Once, he even forgot to wear his shoes to school.”

And Stiles couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing, the grownups joining in. The thought of uncle Robert ever doing anything so silly was incredible. 

“What are we laughing about?” uncle Robert asked, walking into the kitchen.

Stiles laughed harder, accidentally dropping his cookie, which wasn’t too big of a deal, because uncle Peter just gave him another one.

Even though he appreciated what the Hales were trying to do, Stiles still felt like there was something else going on with Derek, more than just being in love (and, ugh, didn’t that thought make something in Stiles’ stomach turn). With that in mind, he turned to the one person who might know a little more.

“I don’t know, Stiles, I guess…” Laura shrugged. “Well, I don’t Derek would mind if I told _you_ , just don’t tell anyone else, okay?”

Stiles nodded.

“Apparently, Kate is older than Derek. Like -- a few years? Which is why he doesn’t want our parents to know yet. He thinks he could get in trouble.”

And he’d be right, Stiles thought. His dad’s dire warnings about bad touches, evil older men (or women, Stiles guessed) and sexual predators ran through his mind. Sometimes it wasn’t too great to be the son of a police officer. 

“Well, have you met her, at least?” Stiles asked.

“No. He refuses to introduce us.” Laura sighed. “I think he’s meeting up with her after school, but I’m not sure.”

And, okay, that was even more weird -- Derek wasn’t trusting him _or_ Laura? Just, no. Completely outside of regulation Derek Hale. And what was the only probable cause? Kate. Who nobody knew, or had ever seen, who was apparently older. If this was a case his dad was working on, Stiles knew Kate would be the first thing he’d check into, which meant Stiles had to come up with a plan.

“Stiles? Listen, I think it’ll be okay. I think it’s just a phase -- you know how Derek is, how intense he can get, sometimes. But he’ll get through it,” Laura said, and the way she looked at him, with a kind of pity, with concern, it made Stiles think that maybe his super secret weirdo feelings about Derek weren’t quite so super secret. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said. He still had every intention of checking Kate out, because he had this gut feeling he really couldn’t ignore. But he didn’t want to worry Laura anymore, so he tried a smile, hoped she’d buy it. “Hey, so, I forgot to ask -- what’s up with college? Have you gotten any acceptance letters?”

“Yeah, I have! UC Berkeley and NYU. They both have awesome pre-law programs. I think NYU is too far away, though, and I’d really hate to be so far from the family, so I’ll probably go for Berkeley.”

“My mom went there,” Stiles said, the inevitable, bittersweet memory of her talking about her alma mater surfacing.

“Yeah, I know,” Laura replied. “We talked about it, a couple of times. She hoped you’d go there, too.”

“I’ll try,” Stiles said. 

It wasn’t going to be easy -- he didn’t have to see Mr. Rawles as often, but he was still on Adderall and it was still tough for Stiles to stick to one topic when he was in class instead of going off on what he thought was the more fascinating tangent.

“You’ll do more than that, Stiles. You’re brilliant. Now, come on. Help me do my nails.”

God, Stiles loved Laura. Not as much as Derek -- not in the same way as Derek -- but he really did.

+

“Hey, kid, how was school?” dad asked, serving him a plate of what looked suspiciously like chicken pot pie from the greasy diner near the station.

Stiles really needed to learn how to cook, before their arteries died forever. Peter could probably help.

“It was okay. Not too boring, I guess,” Stiles replied. “Annie Randolph dumped Jackson Whittemore, and he cried, which was pretty funny.”

“They were going out? Aren’t you all a little young for dating?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “We’re thirteen, dad, not _three_.”

His dad cleared his throat. “Right. Um. Thirteen.” He took another bite of pie. “What about Derek? He hasn’t been over in a while.”

“He’s been busy. He has a new girlfriend,” Stiles muttered into his plate.

“Oh. Well, don’t worry, son. That happens, sometimes -- people drift apart, they change. But you and Derek… what you have is special. It’ll be okay,” his dad said, looking at Stiles kindly, almost like he could hear more than what Stiles was saying.

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed. “Thanks, dad. So, what’s new at the station? How does it feel to be Sheriff now?”

After dinner that night, Stiles came up with a plan. He called it Operation: Bizarro Derek, and there were elaborate graphs and maps, but it mostly boiled down to telling his dad he was staying for Physics Club after school, heading to the high school parking lot and following Derek. 

It was an awesome plan.

+

Okay, so the plan sucked.

Derek caught Stiles the moment he walked into the parking lot (and he was trying to super stealthy, too! He was even wearing his special stealthy hoodie).

“Stiles? What are you doing here? And why are you wearing a hoodie? It’s eighty degrees out.”

“Derek, hi! I, uh. Well, see, it’s just I haven’t seen you for a while, I was wondering if you wanted to come over, play Mario Kart? I promise I’ll go easy on you…”

Derek bit his lip. “I’d like that, but. I kinda have plans.”

“With Kate?” Stiles asked, and he couldn’t help how angry the question came out.

“Yeah, actually. With Kate,” Derek replied, defensive. “Is that a problem?”

“You know what? It is, actually. You’re _never_ around anymore, Derek. We haven’t hung out for the last three weeks, and Laura told me you’ve been skipping classes -- that’s not like you!”

“Oh, _Laura_ told you,” Derek said, eyebrows raised. “Well, since you and Laura are so close now, I can’t see why you’d want to hang out with me, anyway.”

“No, Derek, that’s not what I meant, it’s just --”

“Whatever, Stiles. You’re just a kid, anyway,” Derek cut in.

And, okay, that hurt. That hurt a lot. Derek _knew_ how it worried Stiles, that Derek would outgrow him, that Stiles would get left behind. He stared at Derek, open-mouthed, for once unable to think of anything to say. Derek was wearing his guilt-face again, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Before either of them could say anything else, though, a voice interrupted their weird stand off.

“Derek? Is everything okay?”

And, of course, it was Kate.

Stiles turned to look at her -- she was, well, pretty much flawless. Long, blonde hair, gorgeous eyes, perfect body. The way she was looking at Derek, though, it was… Stiles couldn’t quite explain it, but it was weird. She was rubbing him in all the wrong ways, like that guy who’d once tried to get Stiles to get into his car when he was eight, or the librarian who turned out to be a fugitive. Derek called it his creepy-people sense.

“Hi, Kate. Yeah, everything’s fine,” Derek said.

“Who’s this?” Kate asked, looking between them.

Derek opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Not a “my best friend, Stiles”, not a “my friend, Stiles.” Hell, not even “Stiles.” Guess being friends with a thirteen year old wasn’t something he wanted advertised in front of his older, cooler girlfriend.

Whatever.

“I’m just a kid,” Stiles replied, and turned to leave.

“Stiles, wait,” Derek called after him, but Stiles just walked faster.

On the walk home, Stiles couldn’t help but think that maybe he should call Derek, anyway, tell him about how weird Kate made him feel. But Derek hadn’t called Stiles in days, he hadn’t even come after him… Clearly their friendship wasn’t what Stiles thought it was, and Derek could stay with his creepy, older girlfriend all he wanted. They deserved each other.

+

Two days later, his fight with Derek seemed completely dumb.

Two days later, the Hale house burned down, killing everyone inside. 

The only survivors were Derek and Laura, because they were out running in the forest, but everyone else -- Mr. and Mrs. Hale, uncle Peter and aunt Rose, uncle Robert and uncle Andrew, little David and Mary, Peter and Adam, who’d been home from college, and, jesus. Baby Forrest. Rose had asked Stiles to babysit next weekend, because they were all going camping, and now… 

They were all _gone_.

Stiles drove out there with his dad when they got the call, and he couldn’t keep the tears from falling when he saw the flames, feeling his heart break at the hopeless way the firemen were pulling back, because it was obvious nobody was making it out.

And then he saw Derek and Laura, huddled together off to one side, and his heart broke all over again.

There was nothing he could do but go over there and hug them both to his side, letting Laura cry into his shoulder, letting Derek crush his hand while they stared at the destruction before them.

Stiles’ dad talked them through their statements, the sympathy in his eyes overwhelming. The house was in embers when he led them into the police cruiser, bundled all three of them in the backseat, and took them home.

Neither Derek nor Laura let go of Stiles for a second

The next few days were a complete haze. Stiles didn’t go to school -- there was only two weeks left, anyway -- rather, he tried to cook and cleaned and hugged and cried, he dealt with the insurance claim along with his dad, he fought with the high school secretary until Derek and Laura got their grades sent to his house, and he tried to keep moving, to keep doing, because whenever he dared stop the loss caught up to him, the gaping hole left behind by his mom, by the Hales, it all collated together and left him breathless and panicking inside the bathroom, barely keeping it together. 

How did people _do_ this? Death had been around as long as life, and yet, no matter how much Stiles read, what phrases he put into search engines, nobody had an answer. Laura’s pale face, Derek’s haunted eyes, his own helplessness… nothing could cure it. Nothing would ever make it okay.

But he had to keep trying. They had to keep going.

+

A week later, after somehow making it through finals, Stiles was out of school for the summer. He was glad; there’d be more time to figure out life beyond getting through the day to day. Maybe he’d get more than three words out of Derek, try and get him to talk about Kate -- the one time Stiles had said her name, a couple of days after the fire, Derek had locked himself in the bathroom for hours.

Of course, Stiles should’ve remembered what people said about making plans. 

“Hey, Stiles,” Derek greeted him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure,” Stiles said, dropping his backpack by the door and joining Derek on the couch. He scooted as close as possible -- since the fire, it was like Derek and Laura couldn’t stand being un-shmooshed. “What’s up?”

“I -- I wanted to apologize.”

Stiles frowned. “Apologize? For what?”

“For what I said that day, in the parking lot, with. Well,” Derek paused, swallowed. “Just -- it was awful, Stiles. The way I treated you…. and not just that day. I -- I was the worst friend,” he finished, frowning angrily at himself.

“Hey -- Derek, it’s _okay_ ,” Stiles said, taking one of Derek’s clenched hands in his. “It was just a stupid fight. I forgave you as soon as it was over.”

“Yeah?” Derek asked hoarsely.

“Yeah, doofus. I mean, I’ve been stuck with you for seven years, it’s not like I’m gonna get rid of you _now_.”

Derek huffed out a breath. “Right.”

Stiles couldn’t help it, he smiled. He felt lighter than he had for days, like things could maybe, eventually be alright. 

“Good. Now, I was thinking we need to do some shopping. Like, don’t get me wrong, I am a total cuddle-monster, but maybe we should help Laura fix up the spare room, so she has a place, you know? And we could get bunk beds. Or two singles? No, that wouldn’t work --”

“Stiles, wait,” Derek interrupted. “We -- we’re leaving.”

“What?! No. No, Derek, you can’t. I -- I know the house is gone, but you can stay here with me. You and Laura. My dad, he’d love that, he loves you. I -- you can’t _leave_ ,” Stiles said, his voice breaking.

Derek closed his eyes, swallowed. “It’s not that we want to, but. But it’s not safe here for us. Not anymore.”

“What do you mean it’s not safe? My dad’s the Sheriff now, Derek, he can protect you.”

“No, he can’t. Not from this, trust me,” Derek said. “The fire… it wasn’t an accident. Someone was after us -- after _all_ of us. We have to go, before they come again.”

And there was nothing Stiles could say to that. The thought of Derek leaving Beacon Hills, leaving _him_ , it hurt, it hurt more than he could explain, but. But the thought of Derek dying, of leaving forever, like his mom, like the rest of the Hales… that was far, far worse. 

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. Where are you guys going?”

“New York,” Derek replied. “Laura called NYU, accepted their offer. She explained what happened, asked for family housing… I guess I’ll finish school there.”

God, that was so far away. But if what Derek said was true, if they weren’t safe here , going to the other side of the country made sense. 

“New York, huh? Well. Maybe you can catch a Broadway show. And you’ll get to see the Statue of Liberty, and the Empire State. And tons of museums! My mom --” and Stiles had to stop, breathe “-- my mom always said they had the best museums.”

Wordlessly, Derek squeezed Stiles’ hand. Stiles squeezed back.

“And, hey. No matter where you are, you’ll always be my best friend. _Duh._.”

And Derek smiled. A tiny, barely there smile, but it was the best Stiles had gotten out of him for days.

“You, too,” he whispered.

Something told Stiles, though, that it would be a long, long time before he ever heard from Derek again.

Two days later, Laura and Derek Hale were gone, leaving nothing but a burnt down house and a very lonely boy in their wake.

+++

  
_2006-2010_  


 

The next few years were hard.

There were a few upsides: his dad promised him he could have his mom’s jeep when he turned sixteen, and made some time to teach him how to drive. Danny Mahealani moved to Beacon Hills from Hawaii and Stiles confirmed he was definitely attracted to boys as well as girls; his weird feelings for Derek hadn’t been a fluke. His ADHD didn’t go away, but it didn’t get worse, and Mr. Rawles had agreed that he could lower his dose a little. 

And Stiles wasn’t as alone as he always imagined he’d be, if Derek and he ever stopped being friends. Another new kid moved to Beacon Hills at the beginning of eight grade, and while Scott McCall wasn’t Derek -- there was no wealth of shared history between them, of being different but so oddly _right_ together -- he gave Stiles what he most needed in a friend: unqualified acceptance. Scott didn’t mind that Stiles was loud and fidgety, and he laughed at Stiles’ jokes and didn’t ask awkward questions whenever Stiles slipped and mentioned his mom or the Hales. In turn, Stiles helped him out with History, always carried around a spare inhaler, kept him company on the lacrosse second string, and never made fun of Scott’s hair. It worked out.

Even with a friend, though, Stiles felt more alone than ever. Without Derek and the Hales, the support system he’d relied on after his mom died vanished -- there were no more rides to his appointments, no Mrs. Hale asking after his prescription, no uncle Peter stuffing him full of baked goods. The loss hit his dad hard, too, kinda like whatever healing he’d done after mom was reversed, and sometimes Stiles thought that if he hadn’t been made Sheriff, if he didn’t feel responsible toward everyone in Beacon Hills, his dad wouldn’t stop at two whiskeys a night. 

There was also this obsession Stiles had, which he couldn’t get past: the Hale fire. He just couldn’t get Derek’s words out of his head. Why did Derek say the fire was intentional? Why weren’t he and Laura safe? Stiles had sneaked into his dad’s office, read the inspector’s report: it had been ruled an accident, an electrical malfunction, which had killed the arson investigation in the bud. But Derek had been so _sure_ … what if the inspector lied?

“Stiles, I -- I didn’t know Derek, and I know I wasn’t around when everything happened, but why are you so sure he was telling the truth?” Scott asked him. 

Stiles had been forced to explain everything when Scott caught him researching “how to burn down a house and get away with it” in Google -- it really hadn’t been his finest moment. 

“Because Derek would never lie to me, Scott. And he was _terrified_. He wouldn’t have left Beacon Hills --” wouldn’t have left _Stiles_ \-- “unless he had a good reason.”

“Okay,” Scott nodded, and, god, he really was an awesome friend. “Well, I’m not sure how I can help, but I’m here whenever you need.”

Even with Scott on board, though, nothing really coalesced until the school got a new bus driver at the beginning of their sophomore year.

“I don’t get it. Why are you so excited about the new bus driver?”

“Because, Scott, dear buddy -- do you know who the bus driver is? None other than one Garrison Myers, who was the insurance inspector that ruled the Hale fire an accident, and was recently fired for fraud,” he said, hands flailing in excitement. This had to be it -- the key to start unraveling the whole thing.

Scott just looked at him, adorably confused. “I don’t get it.”

Seriously, he was lucky to be pretty.

“If he was fired for fraud, that means he was taking bribes to lie on his inspections, man,” Stiles explained. “It means someone could’ve payed him to lie about the Hale fire… maybe the person who set the fire in the first place.”

“Oh! Okay, I get it,” Scott said. “So what are you going to do? Are you going to go ask him?”

Stiles wanted to. He really, really wanted to. Wanted to go over there and throw the pictures in his face, to get all the answers he’d been craving. But he knew it would get him nowhere; hell, it might do more harm than good, force the guy to run.

“No. No, I think it’s time I talk to my dad.”

+

Stiles’ dad was pretty skeptical at first.

“Stiles… I know how hard the fire was on you, Derek and Laura leaving -- are you sure you’re not just projecting?”

“No, dad. Derek knew something, something he didn’t want to tell me or even Laura, but he _knew_ someone had set that fire. I managed to get the pictures Myers used to justify the ruling and I compared them to pictures of fires actually caused by an electrical malfunction… it really doesn’t add up. That man was bribed, and whoever bribed him is responsible for the fire. I just know it.”

His dad sighed. “Okay. Ignoring for the moment the vaguely illegal undertones of what you just told me -- I don’t ever want to know how you got those pictures -- what do you want me to do?”

“Just. Ask him. Make it official, or unofficial…” Stiles shrugged. “Dad, I know that fire never sat right with you. I know you and your deputies suspected arson. Please. Don’t you want to know?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

And with that, things began to unravel. Garrison Myers pointed them toward a young woman, blond hair, weird looking necklace, and admitted that the fire he saw was set by at least three or four people, and that they knew what they were doing.

Stiles’ dad didn’t want him involved at first, but after seeing the amount of information Stiles had collected over the years, he let him in on what he’d found, and handed him the drawing of the necklace that Myers had done for him. 

“Just -- don’t be an idiot, okay, son? Don’t do anything rash.”

So, while the Sheriff hunted down likely arsonists who were in Beacon Hills at the time of the fire, Stiles went to work on the weird necklace, who, according to Myers, had a kind of wolf and a star above. The first cursory google search wasn’t too inspiring, but Stiles kept at it. 

“Any luck on that necklace?” 

“Nope, not yet,” Stiles replied. “It sounds like it’s one of a kind, thought, maybe a family thing, so I’m working on that angle.”

“Okay. Let me know,” his dad said. “We got a lead on two guys with records, Reddick and Unger -- plenty of priors, a few for arson. I got a hold of them, and they pointed me in the same direction: young woman, blonde, weird silver necklace. Can you think of anyone fitting that description who might’ve had something against the Hales?”

And, just like that, it clicked. 

“Kate,” Stiles whispered, horrified. 

Oh, god. It was Kate. He remembered, the way she’d looked at Derek, that cold, calculating stare he’d caught for a split second. How close he’d been, to talking to Derek about her, because something seemed off. How he hadn’t, because of a stupid, _stupid_ fight. How Derek had freaked, when Stiles asked about her after the fire -- he’d known, somehow, that Kate was involved. 

“Oh, jesus. It had to have been her. I can’t believe I didn’t see it. It was Kate,” Stiles said, his hands shaking. He could feel his chest constricting, his breathing speeding up. 

“Stiles? Stiles, calm down, son, breathe with me,” his dad said, kneeling in front of him. “In and out, son, come on. Stay with me.”

Stiles looked at his dad, tried to slow down his breathing, and, slowly, the panic receded. His dad handed him a glass of water, looking at him with concern.

“I’m okay,” Stiles reassured him. “I’m okay.” 

“Do you -- can you tell me what that was about?” he asked. 

Stiles bit his lip, and then nodded. “A couple of months before the fire, Derek started going out with a girl.” His dad raised his eyebrows in surprise, and Stiles shrugged. “I know, I thought it was weird, too. I mean, it was Derek, he’d never even had a celebrity crush, let alone a girlfriend. Anyway, he started acting weird -- missing our study dates, skipping school -- and Laura told me that it was because he was seeing a girl, Kate. Who was older than him.” Stiles paused, taking a deep breath. He really didn’t want to think of the next part. “I only met her once, when I went over to the high school to confront Derek for suddenly acting like a dick. And she had blonde hair. I don’t really remember seeing a necklace, but I honestly wasn’t paying attention.”

“And you think this Kate might’ve been behind everything? Why? Did Derek dump her?”

“No,” Stiles replied, shaking his head. “It was just -- when Derek introduced us, he was looking at me, but I was looking at her, at her face. And the way she stared at Derek, dad, it was. It was _cold_. He was besotted, and she was looking at him like he was, I don’t know. Prey. And not in a sexy way. It freaked me out. Like that dude who tried to get me into his car --”

“-- when you were eight, yeah,” his dad finished. “Okay. It’s pretty vague, but I’ll bite. I’ll try to dig up information on any blonde Kates that might’ve been around in Beacon Hills. You keep trying to connect that necklace with her.”

Which was easier said than done. Google having failed him so far, Stiles decided to head to the school library in free period as a last resort. 

Of course, the day Lydia Martin finally deigned to talk to him was the day he was frantically paging through books about jewelry.

“So, do you normally spend free periods looking at pictures of silver necklaces?” she asked, sitting down across from him.

“Um. I. I’m a collector?” Stiles told her, and then wanted to bash his head against the table. A collector? Seriously?

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “If you say so.” She caught sight of the drawing Stiles was comparing designs to. “Is that supposed to be the Argent family crest? It’s a terrible drawing,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Why are you looking for necklaces that belonged to notorious werewolf hunters, anyway? Is it part of your collection?”

“Werewolf hunters? What?” Stiles asked, confused. And then the rest of what Lydia said caught up with him. Stiles looked down at Myers’ drawing of the necklace and back up at Lydia. “The Argent family crest… Kate Argent… oh my god! Kate _Argent_.” He stood up, gave Lydia a smacking kiss on the cheek, and ran off. “Thank you, Lydia! You’re amazing!”

“Stilinksi, did you just kiss my girlfriend? You’re dead!” Jackson yelled after him, as he was hurtling out of the library.

“Yeah, yeah, you can beat me up later, gotta go!” 

He drove to the station like a crazy person, practically vibrating in his seat. 

When he burst inside his dad’s office, he waved off the impending angry questions about not being in school by yelling, “Kate Argent! I think it’s Kate Argent. The necklace, it’s the Argent family crest.”

His dad opened his mouth, closed it, and then sat down. 

“Dad? You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s just. We’re so close, you know? I -- I hoped, but I never thought we’d get this far,” he said.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

It was only later, after he finally made it home, that he thought of it again. Werewolf hunters?

+

Stiles looked at the newspaper headline, still disbelieving. And yet, there it was, a picture of Kate Argent underneath “Woman Guilty of Orchestrating Six Year-Old Arson in Custody.”

They’d done it. They’d managed to connect the dots, to get the confessions and the circumstantial evidence, which ended up including Mr. Harris, the chemistry teacher -- Stiles had never liked him -- and finally, after so long, the Hales had justice. 

Stiles and his dad had tried contacting Laura and Derek, but their emails bounced back, and they’d left no forwarding address.

“It’s like they didn’t want to be found,” his dad said.

“Yeah. It’s exactly like that,” Stiles whispered.

Pretty much everything made sense, now. Why Stiles had heard wolves the first time he’d camped with the Hales, and Derek had promised they’d never hurt him. The monthly camping trips, which, in hind-sight, coincided with the full moon. And why Kate Argent had gone after the Hales -- she was a hunter, and they were werewolves.

In a way, Stiles had hoped that solving the mystery of the fire and finding the culprits would bring Derek and Laura back. He’d hoped he could tell them they were safe, they didn’t need to stay away anymore. But as the weeks passed with no word from either of them, every message bouncing back with “Delivery Status Notification (Failure)”, Stiles slowly resigned himself to the idea that he’d never see them again.

It was time to let Derek go.

+++

__  
And all the roads we have to walk are winding,  
And all the lights that lead us there are blinding.  
There are many things that I would like to say to you,  
But I don't know how. 

_And maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me  
After all, you're my wonderwall_  
\- Oasis

+++

  
_New York City, NY -- fall, 2014_  


 

New York City was amazing. It was totally different from Beacon Hills and Berkeley, even from San Francisco, but Stiles felt right at home. He’d made a good choice, really, and although he didn’t think he’d like to stay for good, he was excited about the prospect of living here for a few years.

Scott had actively encouraged him, because according to him, Stiles really needed a boyfriend or a girlfriend, and things having thoroughly failed in northern California, the other side of the country was bound to have the girl or boy of Stiles’ dreams. He’d become an insufferable romantic after meeting Allison in community college and having their love overcome the fact that Scott had -- indirectly -- helped put Allison’s crazy aunt in jail. So, yeah, overall, Scott had been happy with Stiles’ decision. 

His dad, on the other hand, hadn’t been quite as pleased.

_“Why don’t you just stay at Berkeley, Stiles? You loved it there. Why move all the way across the country?”_

_“I just. I feel like I need to, dad. I’ve lived in northern California my whole life. And the World History program at NYU is incredible.”_

_“Does this have something to do with Derek? With Laura and him moving there, after the fire?”_

_“Oh my god, no! Not everything I do has something to do with Derek. I mean, he probably doesn’t even live there anymore.”_

Of course, life had a funny way of totally screwing with Stiles’ expectations, time and time again, which was why he was walking down 12th toward the Strand when he heard someone call his name loudly.

“Stiles! Stiles Stilinksi!”

He looked around until he saw him. And, god. It couldn’t be…

“Derek?”

It was. Holy shit. Stiles stared at him, open-mouthed.

“Yeah,” Derek said, once he reached him, smiling like he couldn’t help himself. “Jesus, Stiles, I barely recognized you. You -- you’re all grown up.”

“Yeah,” Stiles replied, running a nervous hand through newly grown-out hair. “You grew-” insanely hot “- up, too.” 

They stared at each other for a moment, silent, until Stiles let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Jesus Christ. _Derek_.”

And just like that, they were hugging each other for all their worth, Derek squeezing Stiles to him like he was afraid he’d disappear if he didn’t hold on tightly enough, burying his face in Stiles’ neck. Eventually, almost reluctantly, they pulled apart, and, god, Stiles hadn’t seen Derek in _nine years_ , but it was like it all faded away. Like he’d seen him yesterday.

“So, what brings you to New York?” Derek asked.

“Grad school,” Stiles replied. “I’m doing an M.A. on World History at NYU.”

“That’s amazing, Stiles,” Derek said. “NYU suits you perfectly.”

“So, what about you? What are you doing now, man?”

“I just finished med school, over at Mt. Sinai. Starting my internship,” Derek replied.

“A doctor? Holy shit, Derek,” Stiles said. He opened his mouth to say more, but then Derek’s cellphone rang.

Stiles zoned out while Derek talked on the phone, busy cataloguing all the similarities and all of the differences. Derek was obviously taller, filled out, and, seriously, Abercrombie levels of hot. But his eyes and his smile, that was the same. It was like Stiles was seven years old again and shaking his hand, or nine years old and crying into his arms, or thirteen and trying to figure out if it was okay to want to kiss your best friend.

He zoned back in just in time to hear Derek say, “Okay, see you in a bit. Love you, too.”

And, right. Of course Derek had a girlfriend. I mean, why wouldn’t he? He was insanely attractive, and a doctor, apparently, so obviously he had a girlfriend. Hell, he was probably married, even. He maybe even had kids, like, tiny Dereks. Oh, god, tiny Dereks…

“Sorry about that,” Derek said, interrupting Stiles’ internal spiral-down of panic. “It was Laura.”

Oh. _Oh_. Of course. No tiny Dereks. Hopefully. Not that Stiles would be opposed to tiny Dereks in principle, but… yeah, okay. Cutting off that line of thought now. 

“Laura’s here?” Stiles asked, smiling.

Derek smiled back. “Yeah, she’s working at the D.A.’s office.”

“So she went for law after all, huh?”

“Yep.”

And they just stared at each other like total idiots, _again_ , until somebody jostled Stiles forward and their weird stare-off was broken.

“Listen, I really gotta run --” Derek started saying.

“Yeah, yeah, me too. Books don’t buy themselves, I guess, at least not outside of sci-fi,” Stiles said, waving a hand in the direction of the Strand.

“-- but you have to come to dinner tonight.”

“Although I don’t think I’ve ever seen a movie where books buy themselves. Maybe it’s not too exciting,” Stiles pondered, and then the rest of Derek’s sentence hit him. “Wait, what? Dinner?” 

“Yeah,” Derek nodded. “Dinner. Laura will kill me if she doesn’t get to see you as soon as possible.”

“Well, you’re too pretty to die, so I guess I should go. Just for your safety,” Stiles replied. Then face-palmed in his head. Too pretty to die? Ugh. 

Thankfully, Derek just smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners, and, seriously, could he stop it with the eyes-smile combo of death? 

“So, come to our place, okay? We’re in the Upper East Side. Gimme your number and I’ll text you the address,” Derek told him, handing him his iPhone.

As Stiles put his number in, he couldn’t help but notice Derek’s home screen was generic -- a stock photo of a tree in autumn. So, maybe no significant other? He manfully resisted the temptation to peek around further, and handed the phone back.

“Perfect. We’ll see you tonight, then? Around 7?” 

“Count on it,” Stiles said.

Derek nodded, and almost quicker than Stiles could see, he pulled him into another hug, and then set off at a brisk pace, glancing back once. Stiles waved, and Derek waved back, before disappearing as he turned the corner.

Jesus. Derek Hale. Stiles needed to freak out a little. He pulled out his phone, and hit speed dial number 3.

“Scott? You’re not gonna believe who I just ran into.”

+

After a conversation with Scott (although conversation might’ve been exaggerating -- Scott mostly said “No way!” and Stiles said “I know!” over and over) and some serious book-buying, Stiles had a couple of hours to kill before making his way uptown.

He went back to the grad halls to take a shower and change, and he ran into his roommate on the way out.

“Hey, man!”

“Hey, Alex, what’s up?” Stiles replied, running a nervous hand through his hair.

“Not much -- just gonna chill out tonight. You’re looking snazzy,” Alex said, looking Stiles up and down with a smirk. “That blazer really makes the Stark Industries logo on your t-shirt pop, I think.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. He actually really liked Alex -- he was fun and a little crazy, but also serious enough about studying that he’d stuck around for grad school -- but, god, he’d only known him for a week and he already knew he could be a smartass. Took one to know one, Stiles guessed.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I ran into an old friend today -- going over to his place for dinner.”

“Oh. An _old friend_ ,” Alex said, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s not like that, you asshole. I haven’t seen him since I was thirteen.”

“Hey, I don’t know, man. Kids from small towns, they start early, or so I hear,” Alex shrugged, undaunted.

“Whatever. I’m off -- have a good one.”

It was actually still kind of early, but Stiles couldn’t stay in his apartment any longer; in between the nerves and Alex, he’d go nuts. He decided to do what he liked doing best in New York City: walk. He figured he could wander around for a while and then slowly make his way up -- Derek and Laura lived on 91st, between 1st and 2nd, so it would be a nice walk. 

He put in his headphones, cued up his favorite walking playlist and set off, taking a meandering path up, cutting across Union Square because he loved all the random things people got up to, from impromptu dancing to spoken word. 

God, he loved pounding pavement in New York. It was like the city could keep up with him, with the million different threads of thought running through his mind, with his manic energy. Nobody ever gave him a second glance, and there was such an odd comfort in that, after years of being “that Stilinksi boy”, whose mother had died, whose dad worked day in and day out, whose best friend had run away after his family had been murdered… Here in the city he was just one more face, one more person making it through the day, striding along with everyone else to music only he could hear. It was liberating.

Eventually, he made it to 91st, and after dodging a couple of people hovering outside a bar, he made it to Laura and Derek’s building. Stiles took advantage of somebody leaving to dart inside and took the elevator to the fourth floor. Once he was finally in front of apartment 5F, he hesitated.  
 “You can do this, Stiles. It’s just Laura. And Derek.” 

He sighed. Right. _Just_ Derek. His first friend, his best friend, his first crush… Just Derek. Well, time to pull up his big boy pants and ring the doorbell. He heard footsteps outside, a faint voice asking who it could be, and then the door was slowly swinging open. 

“Seriously, D, what the hell are you on? You’ve smiled more times in the past hour than you have in the last five years,” Laura was saying, as she opened the door. She finally looked at Stiles, and just stared, open-mouthed. “Stiles?” she whispered.

“Hi.”

“Oh my god, Stiles!” she exclaimed, and pulled him into a crushing hug. The Hales were really into crushing hugs, Stiles could see, not that he minded. “Derek, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Derek said, standing behind them. 

“Well, congratulations,” Laura said, leaning back a little, but not letting go of Stiles. She was crying and smiling, and, yeah, Stiles was crying a little, too. “Jesus, Stiles, look at you. You’re -- you’re gorgeous, and so tall, and, god. I hate that I missed it. I hate that I missed you growing up,” she continued, her smile wobbling. 

And, okay, Stiles had to hug her again, and this time he was doing the crushing. 

“Okay, okay,” Laura said, pulling away. “Come sit down, and tell me everything. What are you doing in the city?”

So Stiles sat down in the living room and submitted with good grace to an interrogation more thorough than anything the CIA could cook up while Derek bustled in the kitchen, every once in a while distracting Stiles from telling Laura about Berkeley and NYU by asking things like “You still eat spicy food, right?” and “You haven’t developed an allergy to asparagus, have you?”

Stiles purposefully refrained from talking about that last year of middle school and high school. Even after all this years, the aftermath of the fire was still tender for him; he could only imagine what it was like for them.

Eventually, the meal was ready, and it was _incredible_ \-- a kind of spicy chicken casserole with a side of steamed asparagus and mushrooms lightly seasoned with pepper and salt.

“Whoa. This is amazing, dude,” Stiles told Derek. “When did you get into cooking?”

“Not that long ago, actually,” Derek replied. He suddenly looked a little uncomfortable. “I, uh. I started going to therapy after I started med school, and the therapist recommended I try something like this to relax and to reconnect with my past in a positive way.”

And Stiles knew they were all thinking about uncle Peter. 

“Well, if you cooking your feelings means I get to eat like this, I think your therapist’s a genius,” Stiles said, making a show of rubbing his stomach.

Derek shot him a grateful smile, and Laura laughed. 

“So, Stiles. There’s one thing you haven’t talked about yet,” Laura started. And, oh, no, that look on her face spelled nothing but trouble. “What about love? You had that huge crush on that redhead for ages, did anything happen?”

Stiles glanced at Derek before replying, and couldn’t help but notice he wasn’t smiling anymore. “Uh, well, not really? I did take her to the winter formal once, but that was mostly because she had a huge fight with her boyfriend and, in her words, I was the only nearby male with a working brain. We ended up being good friends, though, eventually.”

By senior year, whenever Lydia got bored with playing an airhead, she’d drag Stiles to the Starbucks near their school and they’d talk for hours. They still emailed a lot, and skyped. As he’d predicted, she was well on her way to winning a Fields medal. 

“And? Anyone else?” 

“Well, I did date one of my classmates for a while, Danny Mahealani, but that was when were both at Berkeley,” Stiles said. Neither Derek nor Laura looked at all surprised at the idea of him dating a boy -- if anything, Derek looked disgruntled. “We were together for a couple of years, but it ended up not working out. Nothing bad -- we just weren’t _it_ , I think.” He shrugged. “There’s been a couple of dates here and there, but nothing serious outside of that. I’m not really a serial dater. I -- I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s mostly that if I’m not crazy into somebody, like, really into them, I can’t really do the whole awkward dating thing, you know?”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Laura said, shooting Derek a look Stiles couldn’t parse. “I’ve never been a big believer of dating for dating’s sake myself. And Derek --”

“-- is getting dessert,” Derek interrupted her. “You’re still a chocolate fan, right?” he asked Stiles.

Stiles grinned. “The more chocolate, the better.”

Derek brought out a seriously perfect flourless chocolate cake and they demolished it in short order while Stiles made Laura tell him all about the D.A.’s office -- complete with embarrassing stories -- and then prodded at Derek until he talked about med school. 

“Derek, I gotta ask -- why med school? I mean, you’re totally smart and all, but from what I remember you, uh. You kinda hate people?”

Laura snorted and Stiles shrugged, unapologetic. It was true! Derek had only ever hung out with Stiles and with his family. It wasn’t that he was unpopular or disliked, but he didn’t really ever have much patience for people.

Derek didn’t seem offended, anyway, he just had that scrunchy expression on his face that meant he was thinking about how to answer a question, as much a classic as his grumpy face. 

“I guess I still don’t like people that much,” he finally replied. “I mean, my teachers always told me I needed better bedside manner. But I guess I wanted to be a doctor because, well.” He cleared his throat, and looked down at the table. “Because I remember how it was, with your mom. And when I had to pick a major and all that, all I could think about was your face, when it happened. And how much I’d wished I could’ve done something.”

“Oh,” Stiles whispered, floored. Jesus. And even though he was trying to stay away from the past, he had to say this. “You did a lot, Derek. Trust me. And, uh. Your patients will be lucky to have you.”

Derek gave him a small, sad smile, and Stiles smiled back, something in his chest hurting. And then, because he knew it was up to him to break the tension and not let any of them wander down really, really sad memory lane any longer than they had, he said the first thing that popped into his mind.

“Okay, so, who am I gonna have to fight for the last piece of chocolate cake? Because I don’t care how tough you two look, I will fight to the death. I got moves.”

Laura burst out laughing and pretended to duel using forks, but Derek refused to declare a winner so they split the cake in two, and the sadness passed, like a cloud over the sun.

Eventually, Stiles looked at the time on his phone and frowned. “Okay, guys, I should probably head back -- I have a nine thirty class tomorrow, and I need to wake up early to do some reading.”

“Don’t be a stranger, okay?” Laura told him. “I’ll get your number from Derek and call you soon, we need to get together and do lunch.”

“Or a mani-pedi,” Stiles suggested, remembering the many times Laura had commandeered his help to do her nails and left him with brightly colored toe-nails.

Laura laughed. “Or that, yeah.” She gave him another hug. “Love you, kid. It was so good to see you.”

With that, she left him and Derek in the hallway, staring at each other. Because it was apparently what they did now, stare at each other a lot.

“Thanks for having me,” Stiles said, deciding to break the silence before they grew cobwebs.

“Thanks for coming,” Derek said. “It was -- it was perfect, having you here. We -- _I_ missed you.”

And it was on tip of Stiles’ tongue, bitter and sad and still thirteen years old and heartbroken, a plaintive _“Then why did you never come back for me?”_ , but he bit it back. He didn’t want to end tonight like that, with recriminations and bad memories, filled with grief and smoke. 

So he gave Derek a small smile and said, “Me, too.” Because he had. 

“I’ll call you soon,” Derek promised. “Good night.”

They hugged goodbye, and Stiles felt Derek’s arms around him all the way back to his apartment.

+

After that, it was like Laura and Derek had never vanished from Stiles’ life.

He’d gotten a call two days after dinner.

“Okay, so, you said you didn’t have classes on Wednesday?”

“Hi, Laura, how are you?”

“Yeah, yeah, small talk, whatever. What about Wednesday?”

Stiles huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, I’m free.”

“Excellent. Don’t make any plans -- I’m taking the day off, and you and I are taking New York City by storm.”

“That sounds ominous. I’m in.”

It turned out Laura was as big a fan of walking around the city with no set destination in mind as Stiles was, so they wandered all over the place, eventually ending up in the Cafe Sabarsky at the Neue Gallery because Laura was craving sachertorte and a glimpse of Klimt’s Kiss.

After that, Laura would call him after getting out of court and ask him to meet somewhere for a drink because she needed to vent with someone who wouldn’t tell tales and get her fired, and then she’d drag him to dinner to somewhere he couldn’t afford and payed when he wasn’t looking, because, in her words, he was the penniless student and she was the working woman -- when he got a job he could treat her. 

Derek texted him all the time, random things like asking whether he’d worn a jacket because it was getting cold, telling him about the crazy stuff residents made them do every day. He was more talkative over texts than he’d ever been verbally, but Stiles didn’t mind. 

One night, Stiles was struggling through an essay about the “Vision of the Vanquished” when he got a text.

_From: Derek_  
October 2 2014, 21:04  
Do you still love curly fries? 

_To: Derek_  
October 2 2014, 21:05  
DUH. Our love is pure and eternal, Derek. Why? 

_To: Derek_  
October 2 2014, 21:08  
Derek? 

_From: Derek_  
October 2 2014, 21: 17  
I’m outside. 

Stiles ran outside to find Derek standing in front of the grad halls, a bag from the Good Stuff diner cradled carefully between his hands.

“What -- why -- Derek?” 

Derek handed Stiles the bag, and the tell-tale smell of his favorite food in the world almost made his mouth water. 

“You brought me curly fries?” 

“I figured you’d be having a hard time, so I thought I’d bring by some sustenance before I started my rotation,” Derek said, shrugging.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Stiles told him, fervently. “You are my absolute favorite.”

Derek ducked his head. “It’s not a big deal.”

And it really was, but apparently Derek’s discomfort with being thanked hadn’t changed at all in all these years. 

“Do you need to leave now? When do you have to be at the hospital?”

“Eleven thirty,” Derek replied.

“Well, come on up, share these with me.”

After Derek left, Alex stuck his head in Stiles’ room.

“Dude, _that’s_ your old friend? The one you had dinner with the other night?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles replied.

“And you’re seriously sticking to the story of not having banged him?”

“Yes, Alex, I am. Because it’s not a story, it’s the truth,” Stiles replied, rolling his eyes. 

“I despair of you, I really do,” Alex told him. 

“Good night, Alex,” Stiles said, standing up and ushering Alex out of his room.

+

A week later, Stiles surprised Derek with lunch at the hospital, because fair was fair.

“I hope you like kebabs, man,” Stiles told him, “I got them from this awesome place on 81st.”

“Yeah, I do,” Derek said, a baffled-but-happy look on his face.

“Excellent. So, where are we eating?” Stiles asked.

“You’re staying?”

“Well, duh.”

After that, they made it a regular thing -- lunch when either of them could fit the trip uptown or downtown, a quick walk around Carl Schurz Park, late night shakes and fries, a memorable midnight cupcake run. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they just shared food and space, but it was always good. Stiles had forgotten how great it was, the way he always felt like he fit inside his own skin when he was around Derek.

“Hey, what are your plans this weekend?” Derek asked him one day, while they messily made their way through seriously awesome pad thai.

“Um, doing criminal amounts of reading and finishing my essay comparing the Latin American revolutions with the Haitian revolutions,” Stiles replied. He took a sip of his thai tea. “I totally don’t regret picking Latin America as one of my areas, but oh my god, so many revolutions. Hey, my tongue is orange,” he added, sticking it out and going cross-eyed trying to look at it.

Derek huffed out a laugh.

“Anyway, why did you want to know about my plans?”

“Well, I was thinking that you could come over? I only have to go into the hospital Saturday morning, but I’m free after. We could hang out, you could work on your readings and stuff. I could cook… I promise I won’t distract you talking or whatever.”

“Yeah, because I was really worried about that. I was actually meaning to talk to you about how you never shut up, Derek -- you’re such a motor mouth,” Stiles said, grinning.

Derek blushed. “Shut up. So, uh. What do you think?”

“Well, I have no idea why you want me cluttering up your apartment with books and grad student stress habits, but I’m in.”

And so that became one more staple in their routine: every couple of weeks, Stiles would go over to their apartment and hang out, get fed by Derek and get his essays proofread by Laura, the couch becoming _his spot_ , a set of blankets and a pillow always waiting for him.

It wasn’t all perfect, though. Every once in a while, one of them would talk about something the other had no memory of, and it brought them up short, that reminder of the years they’d spent apart. It was always jarring because, for the most part, they’d settled back into friendship as if no time had ever gone by. Derek would talk about going to high school in New York or Stiles would mention Scott or Danny or his dad’s constant battle with high cholesterol and it would suddenly gape between them, the chasm where their lives had split apart.

And, of course, there were the full moons, when Laura and Derek would be unavailable with no explanation. Stiles already _had_ an explanation, of course, but it stung that after all these years they still didn’t trust him with the truth.

+

Stiles got an email from Danny halfway through November -- he was going to be in New York for DefCon over the weekend and he wanted to hang out, to which Stiles quickly replied in the affirmative. He missed Danny -- regardless of their breakup, he’d always been a great friend.

“Hey, so Laura and I were thinking that if you don’t have too much to read this weekend we could check out the new exhibit at the Whitney,” Derek said.

They were having lunch at the Shake Shack on 86th, where, sadly, Stiles couldn’t get curly fries, but could at least get a really awesome chocolate milkshake. 

“Oh, that sounds good, I’ve been dying to go,” Stiles agreed, sipping from his milkshake. Then he remembered about Danny and face-palmed. “Wait, never mind. I can’t make it this weekend -- Danny is coming over for a hacker convention thingy and I told him we’d hang out.”

“Oh,” Derek replied, quietly. 

“But we’ll totally go next weekend -- I can’t wait to see Chamberlain’s work, it’s totally like Kandinsky made sculpture or something,” Stiles continued. Derek wasn’t replying, staring down at his burger. “Uh. Derek?”

Derek glanced up. “I’m, uh. I’m not hungry anymore. I should -- I should go,” he said, standing up. “Yeah, I should go. Um. I’ll see you later.”

And before Stiles could even blink, Derek was gone, leaving behind his fries and a half-eaten hamburger. 

“What the hell just happened?” 

Whatever had gotten into Derek, Stiles didn’t get any answers before the weekend. He didn’t get a chance to ask Laura; she was practically incommunicado because she was totally swamped at work working on the indictment of some Wall Street big shot who’d been caught red-handed in various frauds. And, for his part, Derek wasn’t answering any calls or replying anything other than “fine” to Stiles’ queries via text. 

Any other time, and Stiles would’ve gone over to the hospital or their apartment demanding an answer, but he had two tests and an essay to hand in Friday on which he’d procrastinated miserably, so he couldn’t get away. The lack of communication got to him, though, because he’d gotten so used to Derek being around, whether in person or via text or via random delicious food showing up in his fridge. It _hurt_ and it made him worry and, seriously, it was a miracle he didn’t bomb those tests.

When Saturday rolled around Stiles almost slept through the time he was supposed to meet Danny, but Alex was banging around in the kitchen -- he seemed to have this inexhaustible hope that if only he kept cooking, he’d manage to make something edible, no matter how often Stiles told him that he actually had to follow the damn recipe to get a result -- and the clanking and acrid smell of burnt toast were as effective an alarm as any.

He got dressed in the jeans he’d discarded on the floor last night and the first flannel shirt he grabbed that looked reasonably clean before running out of the apartment and heading toward W4 to grab the E to 7th. Danny would kill him if he made him wait more than 15 minutes. 

After a crowded subway ride and a pedestrian-dodging run to 56th, Stiles made it to the hotel he was meeting Danny at only five minutes late.

“Hey, hey! Sorry I’m late -- I had a brutal couple of days at school, waking up was horrible,” Stiles said quickly, flailing a little. 

“Don’t sweat it -- I’ve been people watching. Also, hello Stiles, nice to see you, too,” Danny replied smiling this small, indulgent smile, and god, he looked good. 

Like, Stiles was over him and they really were better friends than boyfriends, but he kind of had this sudden desire to fistbump himself over hitting that for a year, because, _damn_. Oh, right, time to focus.

“Sorry, sorry -- hi, Danny. You look hot like burning as usual. Hug hello?”

And Danny burst out laughing at that, but he hugged Stiles, whispering, “I missed you. Which must make me certifiable, but there you go.”

Stiles pulled away, grinning. “It happens. I grow on people, like fungus.”

“Like something,” Danny agreed. Then he looked Stiles up and down. “Uh, Stiles? You know I’m not as much of a clothes-horse as Jackson, but, uh. I don’t really think your outfit works for this place?” 

Stiles looked behind them at the door of Le Parker Meridien. “Don’t be so sure, Danny-boy. C’me on, let’s go in,” he said, dragging Danny by the wrist.

“Stiles, seriously, I’ll lend you a jacket!” Danny protested. And then promptly stopped, once Stiles had led him through the lobby and past a red velvet curtain. He glanced around the beat up wood, the posters, the cramped booths, and the kitchen right in the middle. “What is this place?”

“This, my friend, is the Burger Joint,” Stiles replied. “Looks dodgy as hell, has amazing burgers and pretty great milkshakes. C’me on, let’s order -- we can grab our stuff to go and eat in Central Park.”

After getting cheeseburgers, fries and two milkshakes, they walked outside and made their way to Central Park. They sat down on a bench facing one of the ponds and dug in.

“So, how’s your scary hacker conference going?” Stiles asked.

“It’s not a _scary hacker_ conference. It’s just a hacker conference.”

“Full of super capable, super scary hackers. Hence…”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. It’s going pretty well -- I had a couple of interesting job offers, met some cool people, planned to take over the world’s finances, you know how it is.”

Stiles laughed. “Man, am I ever so glad you’re on my side.”

“How about you? How’s the MA going?”

“Pretty well,” Stiles replied. “I mean, it’s _history_ , you know how much I love it. Plus, at this stage of the proceedings, I can actually write an essay on the entire history of male circumcision and get an A, instead of getting Finstock’s hairy eyeball.”

“Good, man. I’m glad,” Danny said, smiling. “Do you know what you’ll do after, or not yet?”

“Maybe I want to teach? I mean, I’m not a hundred percent. But, yeah. Maybe.”

“You should,” Danny said. “You’d be a great teacher. Kind of crazy, but great.”

Stiles nodded, and took a bite of his burger. Teaching had been on his mind for a while, really, along with this vague plan to go back home, maybe see if they had a teaching position open at Beacon Hills High… 

“So, okay, what’s really up with you?” Danny asked, interrupting his reverie. “I can tell something’s off, and you’ve been a little too vague on your emails, man -- Lydia called me and told me to get whatever’s up out of you, before she’s forced to fly out here and interrogate you herself.”

Stiles winced. He had been a little too abstract on his emails of late. He just didn’t quite know how to tell them about Derek, because all they knew about him was the shitty, shitty aftermath.

Danny nudged his shoulder. “C’me on, it can’t be that bad. Just say it, whatever it is. I’ll help. We’ll help.”

“You remember Derek Hale?” Stiles asked. When Danny nodded, Stiles took a deep breath, and went for it. “I ran into him again, here. A few months ago. He invited me over for dinner and Laura was there, too, and. And it’s just like he never left me, like neither of them ever left, because being with Laura, with Derek, it always felt like home. But. But they _did_ leave. And sometimes there’s all these things we don’t say, about what happened, about the fire, about the aftermath… it’s tough. We get stuck, and, I don’t know. I guess I feel a little angry? But it’s stupid, because it happened so long ago, them leaving.” 

Danny nodded. “I get that. And I don’t think it’s stupid to feel that way. I mean, Derek was your best friend in the whole world, and Laura was like your big sister. And, I mean. You hated talking about it, but I always thought you felt kind of betrayed, that they left you to deal alone, after the fire.”

“Yeah,” Stiles whispered. He’d understood, rationally, but understanding hadn’t done much for how devastated he’d felt. “It doesn’t help that Laura’s been really busy and Derek’s been super weird this week, like -- not talking to me, barely replying to texts… it’s freaking me out. Making me feel like they’re leaving again, or something, even though I _know_ they’re not.”

“Have you talked to them about it?”

“Um. No?”

“Stiles. C’me on. You know you have to. If you want to keep them in your life, you need to clear the air. Otherwise, all this unspoken stuff is going to blow up on all your faces and it’s gonna get ugly.” He paused. “And Lydia would tell you the same thing. Except not as nicely.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed. “You’re right. Maybe next weekend? I sleep over at their place all the time.” Danny gave him a _look_ , so he elaborated. “We’re all pretty busy, so I go over there and just hang out. I do my readings and essays while Laura pores over case-files and Derek studies. It’s nice, you know? Just a way to be together. Plus, Derek always cooks the most amazing stuff -- he’s like, a stealth chef.”

Danny was quiet for a moment, looking at Stiles thoughtfully.

“What?” Stiles asked.

“Just wondering if you’re ever going to tell Derek you’ve been in love with him since you were thirteen,” Danny replied.

“What? I -- No way -- it was a crush, I --” Stiles tried to defend himself, starting and stopping, and he finally gave up. “In love? Really?”

“Stiles, he’s pretty much been it for you since you figured out that “it” was a thing,” Danny said, rolling his eyes. “I mean, the way you always talked about him… and from what your dad told me, pretty much nobody else existed for you while he was around, and when he left after the fire you spent more than half of high school obsessed with figuring out who’d done it.”

“I was kind of hoping he’d come back, if I figured it out. If I made it safe again,” Stiles admitted. Then something Danny said got through. “Wait, my dad?”

“What can I say, your dad and I are tight,” Danny replied, shrugging. “When I was over at your place on Christmas break that year we talked quite a bit. He’s a cool guy.”

“Yeah, he is,” Stiles said. He looked out at the water, sipping the last of his milkshake, thinking. Fuck. He really _was_ in love with Derek. 

“You okay?” Danny asked.

“I will be,” Stiles said. “Just, you know. Lots to think about. To talk about.”

“Yeah,” Danny said. Then, he took pity on Stiles and changed the subject to something less fraught. “So, you’ll never guess what Jackson told me the other day…”

Stiles gratefully latched onto whatever drama Jackson had decided to cook up, putting the whole Hale subject in the back-burner. 

Eventually, though, Danny had to go back to his conference and be a scary hacker and Stiles had to go back and start outlining yet another essay.

“It was really, really good to see you, Stiles,” Danny said.

“You, too, man. And, hey -- thanks for everything. I really appreciate you talking my head out of my ass.”

“What are exes for?” Danny said with a smile.

“Hug goodbye?” 

Danny pulled him in for a lung-squeezing hug in answer.

+

Stiles headed to the NYU library and tried to work on his essay, but after two hours, he hadn’t come up with much beyond a paragraph he’d probably have to scrap, anyway. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Danny had told him, about how weird Derek had been the past few days.

He couldn’t really keep himself from shooting off a text.

_To: Derek_  
November 22 2014, 19:06  
Hey, haven’t heard much from  
you this week -- all okay?  
Miss you 

A response arrived about twenty minutes later -- twenty minutes during which Stiles had tried to distract himself reading _Open Veins of Latin America_ but failed miserably.

_From: Derek_  
November 22, 2014, 19:27  
Fine. 

And, okay, that was _it_. Stiles was so over this passive-aggressive bullshit. He was out of the library and power-walking to Union Square before he knew it. It was time to get answers. 

All too soon -- and not soon enough, at once -- he was standing in front of Derek and Laura’s place, shifting from foot to foot. He just had to knock, ring the doorbell, whatever. But now that he was actually here, he just couldn’t seem to make himself move, take the last step that would lead to all the shit he’d buried since he saw Derek again bursting right up to the surface. 

Ugh, no. He couldn’t do it. He was about to turn and leave, when the door opened. 

“Stiles. What are you doing here?” It was Derek, looking half-surprised, half-pissed. 

“I just. I wanted to talk, man. Things have been really weird between us this week, and I just had to come,” Stiles replied. “What’s wrong, Derek? Please tell me.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Derek replied, his face giving nothing away. “I just thought that it’d be easier on both of us if we stopped hanging out so often. We’re both busy and -- it -- it’s a distraction.”

Stiles frowned. “You’re my best friend, man. You’d never be a distraction,” he said, putting a hand over Derek’s forearm. 

Derek inhaled deeply, and he stared down at Stiles’ hand on his arm for what felt like a full minute. “Maybe you’re a distraction to _me_ ,” he whispered. 

Stiles pulled his hand back as if he’d been burned. “What?”

Derek’s jaw clenched, and he didn’t look up. “You -- you make me forget how things are now, Stiles. When I’m with you, everything’s almost okay again and I forget what I --” he paused, swallowed. “You make me forget what happened. I can’t afford to forget.”

“Are you talking about the fire?” Stiles asked, torn between confusion and sorrow and white-hot anger, because, seriously, great time for Derek’s issues to come roaring to the forefront. “Derek, it wasn’t your fault. It was Kate. And if you’d bothered to keep in touch you’d know that she’s in jail, that it’s over. I made sure of it.”

“I knew.”

And that brought Stiles up short, turned the words in his mouth to ash. “You _knew_? You knew what I -- what my dad had done, that we put her away, that we made it safe… and you still didn’t come back?” 

“I couldn’t risk it, Stiles!” Derek said, and he was finally looking up, finally looking at Stiles, his eyes wide and desperate. “I -- you don’t know what I am, what I’ve always been. I’ll never be safe to be around. And I couldn’t risk you. If you got hurt because of me...”

“I _did_ get hurt because of you, Derek,” Stiles spat out, the anger and pain he’d held back for years almost choking him. “You were my best friend. You and Laura were my _only_ friends, and I know that you were hurting and that you were scared, but you left me alone with nothing but a burnt down house and too many ghosts. You weren’t the only one who lost them,” he finished, biting back a sob.

“Oh, Stiles,” Derek whispered, reaching out like he couldn’t help himself, pulling Stiles toward him and into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry. It was -- it was horrible, leaving you. Felt like I was pulling myself apart. But I couldn’t stay, I couldn’t come back… if you knew what I am,” he repeated.

“You’re a werewolf, Derek. It’s not the end of the world,” Stiles muttered into his shoulder. He felt Derek freeze, and, whoops. Maybe not the best way to let the were-cat out of the bag?

“You know,” Derek said in a strangled voice.

Stiles pulled back, gave him a disbelieving look. “You’ve met me, right? I mean, it wasn’t that hard to figure out after putting together Kate _Argent_ with all those monthly camping trips.”

Derek shook his head, giving him a rueful smile. “I should’ve realized you’d figure it out. Uncle Peter always said we should tell you, before you followed us to the woods in a fit of curiosity.”

“I probably would’ve,” Stiles admitted. 

They were quiet for a moment, looking at each other. Then, Derek stepped back, putting some space between them.

“So you know, then, why I’m not safe. Kate was one hunter, and look at all the damage she did… there are others. There will always be others.”

“And we can be smarter than them,” Stiles said. “I’ll help, and if you guys ever want to move back to Beacon Hills, my dad would help, too.”

“I can’t ask you to do that. I won’t. You can live a normal life -- a safe life.”

“But I don’t want a safe life, Derek,” Stiles told him. “I want _you_.”

And before he could second-guess himself, he closed the distance between them once again and did what he’d wanted to do for nine years -- he kissed Derek Hale.

Sanity returned with crushing speed when Stiles realized Derek wasn’t kissing him back. Because why would Derek kiss him back, after all? All that talk of keeping him safe, it was as a friend. Oh, god. What had he done? He stepped back, running a nervous hand through his hair.

“Um. Uh. Okay, right, how about we chalk that up to shock or something and pretend it never happened. Good plan?”

“Stiles…”

“Great plan, I think!” Stiles interrupted, before Derek had a chance to, god, let him down easy or whatever he was going to say. “I should probably go. Because it’s late, and, yeah. Going now.”

With that, Stiles bolted out of the apartment, regretting his poor impulse control more than ever. They were finally getting somewhere, talking about the past, the whole werewolf thing was finally out in the open, and Stiles had to go and ruin it. He berated himself the whole subway ride down -- and he was probably talking out loud to himself at random intervals, because people were looking at him funny -- and the walk from the station to grad halls never felt more depressing.

Of course, once he got to his building, Derek was waiting outside.

“What -- you -- but I -- _how_?” Stiles asked plaintively. 

“Werewolf,” Derek replied.

Right. That was the problem, Stiles guessed, with being in love with a guy who turned out to be a werewolf and unadvisedly confessing said love -- you didn’t get a chance to run away and hide while you nursed your wounds. You were beaten home by said guy and forced to deal with your shame because, hi, crazy supernatural abilities like super speed, apparently. Werewolves sucked. 

“So. Um. What are you doing here?” 

“You kissed me,” Derek replied.

“I did do that, yes,” Stiles said. 

“Why did you kiss me?” Derek asked, looking like Stiles’ answer was absolutely vital, like the fate of the world hinged upon it. 

Stiles decided that he had nothing more to lose, in for a penny, in for a pound, so he just told Derek the absolute truth. “Because I’ve wanted to kiss you since I was thirteen years old.”

“You -- but I thought you and Danny?”

And Stiles got it, then, what started this whole miserable week. Derek got jealous. Idiot.

“There’s no me and Danny,” Stiles told him, rolling his eyes. “We’re just friends. It happens, when you date people who aren’t psychos.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey, you’re the one who acted like an asshole for a week because of totally misguided jealousy when you could’ve just asked,” Stiles replied, shrugging. “I get a pass on that one.”

Derek considered that for a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough. So, uh. No thing with Danny, then.” He paused. “Really, Stiles?” 

And, god, the hope in Derek’s voice, in his eyes, it made the last of Stiles’ defenses crumble. Screw self-preservation.

“Yes, Derek. _Really._ ”

This time, it was Derek who closed the distance between them, who leaned in slowly, like he was afraid Stiles would spook or run away, and he kissed Stiles, a deep, thorough kiss, like he was branding Stiles, like he was _owning_ him. And Stiles kissed him back just as deeply, leaving no room for any more misunderstandings. 

“Do you want to come in?” Stiles asked, pulling back a little.

“Can I?”

“To quote a favorite of yours: _duh_ ,” Stiles replied, laughing a little. “Come on.”

Derek blushed, but he readily followed Stiles inside, shadowing his every step like he was afraid Stiles would leave him behind.

Once they were in Stiles’ room, though, Stiles started feeling nervous. Was this really happening? Maybe it was a really, really elaborate dream. Maybe he’d fallen asleep half-way through outlining an essay and this was his brain’s way to relieve stress. Maybe his Adderall prescription had gotten mixed up with something else and he was totally tripping…

“Stiles? Are you okay?” 

Stiles turned to look at Derek, hovering in the doorway, shifting from one foot to the other, and decided that this had to be real. No daydream or memory had ever managed to conjure the reality of Derek Hale quite so vividly -- his eyes had never been green enough, his smile never quite right, his hair always too neat. Yeah, this was happening, and that was probably the most terrifying possibility of all. But, hey. Call him Mr. Danger.

“I’m okay,” Stiles replied. “But I’d be better if you came over here and kissed me.”

And, okay, maybe the werewolf super-speed wasn’t that bad, because Derek was inside the room and kissing him almost before Stiles had finished speaking.

The kiss escalated quickly, and Stiles couldn’t keep his hands off Derek, because, god, he challenged anyone to keep their hands off Derek fucking Hale once they finally had him. He ran his hands through Derek’s hair, over his back, and it wasn’t enough.

“Shirt off,” he muttered into Derek’s lips, ineffectually tugging at his t-shirt. “C’me on, _off_.”

Derek snorted and took a step back, cutting off Stiles’ protest by quickly taking off his shirt, and, okay, Stiles really didn’t want to be Emma Stone to Ryan Gosling here, but, seriously. 

“Jesus. It’s like you’re photoshopped.”

“Really, Stiles? Is this the best moment to be quoting romantic comedies?”

And Stiles shrugged, grinning. “I don’t know, Derek. Is this the best moment to admit you’ve watched certain romantic comedies often enough that you recognize when they’re being quoted?”

“Shut up, and come over here,” Derek replied, looking kind of grumpy but also kind of desperate to get his hands back on Stiles. 

Once Stiles was back in touching distance, Derek helped him out of his shirt with much more finesse than Stiles had attempted on him, and then he pulled Stiles even closer, burying his face in the space between Stiles’ neck and shoulder, and they were touching skin to skin and it was almost too much, too intense.

Stiles started kissing every bit of Derek he could reach -- his neck, his shoulder, the soft space behind his ear -- and he felt Derek shiver against him, felt him move his hands down to grab Stiles by the hips and pull him in, the sudden friction making both of them moan. Stiles couldn’t keep himself from moving against Derek, the heat and the pleasure obliterating everything from his mind but this, now. 

Derek was moving against him, too, kissing his face, his mouth, until he pulled back with a groan. “Bed, now,” he said, picking Stiles up and carrying him the few steps to the bed, and, okay, that was kind of insanely hot. 

Stiles hit the mattress with an “Oomph” and immediately grabbed for Derek again, pulling him closer, kissing him deeply, because any time spent not kissing Derek was time wasted. Derek had a hand buried in Stiles’ hair, but his other hand was moving down Stiles’ torso until it hit his jeans, and Stiles was confused for a moment until he realized what Derek was trying to do.

“Hold on, lemme -- lemme help,” he said.

Not a minute too soon, Stiles’ jeans were unbuttoned and Derek’s hand was on his cock, and, oh god, was it possible to die from pleasure? This wasn’t Stiles’ first rodeo, obviously, but it was _Derek_. Derek touching him and kissing him and looking at him like he was the only thing he’d ever wanted.

“This okay?” Derek asked, and, seriously, he asked the most stupid questions sometimes.

“Better than,” Stiles gasped out. 

And then Derek’s hand was gone for a second, which made Stiles moan in disappointment until he realized Derek was unbuttoning his own jeans and, god, yes -- Derek’s cock was rubbing against his own, every part of Derek’s body pressed against Stiles, and Stiles couldn’t stop talking, couldn’t stop telling Derek how amazing it felt, how perfect, until the pleasure intensified almost to breaking point and Stiles was coming between them, Derek following with a groan.

They laid there for what felt like hours, panting, Stiles clutching Derek tight. Eventually, things got a little uncomfortable, and Derek sat up, manhandling Stiles out of his jeans and briefs before getting out of his with far more grace than Stiles could ever manage because, well, werewolf. 

The second their pants were out of the way, though, Derek lay back down half on top of Stiles, face buried in his neck once again, breathing in deeply.

“Hey, is that a werewolf thing?” Stiles asked, idly.

“What is?”  
 “The whole neck obsession,” Stiles replied. “I mean, not that I don’t love it -- who knew necks could be so sensitive -- but I was wondering.”

Derek raised his head a little, enough to meet Stiles’ eyes. “It’s -- it’s just a place where your scent is concentrated. And it -- you smell -- god, Stiles, I can’t describe it. When I saw you after all those years, walking down the street, I -- I recognized your scent before I recognized your face. Everything in me just. Woke up.” Derek paused, and stared at Stiles, an eyebrow quirked. “Stiles? You okay?”

And Stiles couldn’t help himself, he burst out laughing. “You recognized my _scent_?! Oh my god, that’s the creepiest thing anyone’s ever told me.” Derek went all grumpy-faced and tried to get up, but Stiles held him back with a hand on his arm. “No, come on, tell me more about how you sniffed me, you giant weirdo.” Stiles giggled again. “My scent. Seriously, you’re lucky I love you.”

“You love me?” Derek asked, eyes wide.

Oops.

“Um. I hadn’t mentioned that?”

Derek shook his head, mute.

“Well, I do? I mean, I thought it was kind of obvious,” Stiles said, and thought back to what Danny had told him. “You’ve kind of been it for me since before I knew what “it” was.” And then he realized he was saying that out loud, and freaked out. “But, I mean. You shouldn’t feel like you have to say it back? Or, or even feel it, I guess? It would suck if you didn’t, not gonna lie, but, like, if you just want to share some more orgasms, we could do that, and then maybe work up to the it-ness again? Oh, god. Okay, let’s pretend I didn’t say anything.”

Derek just looked at him and one of his hands came up to frame Stiles’ face, his thumb brushing Stiles’ cheek. “Let’s not,” he said quietly. “Because I love you, too.”

And then he leaned back down, his lips meeting Stiles’ in the softest, sweetest kiss Stiles had ever experienced. 

Which was promptly interrupted by Alex, who pounded on his door, yelling, “Yo, Stiles! Do you and your old friend want to go out for late night breakfast?”

“No, Alex, we’re fine!” he yelled back. “Go away!”

“Okay! But kudos on finally hitting that!”

Stiles let his head fall against the pillow, covering his face with his hands. His roommate was the worst. 

Derek buried his face in Stiles’ neck again, and Stiles could feel him laughing.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, wolf-boy. You do realize Laura is going to do much, much worse when she finds out, right?”

Derek was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “How do you feel about moving to Iceland?”

Stiles started laughing.

+++

__  
Beacon Hills, CA -- spring, 2016  


 

“Oh my god, dude, I’m _never_ helping you move again! How do you have so much crap?” Scott exclaimed, putting down yet one more box in the living room. “I have asthma, Stiles!”

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” Allison told him, hauling two boxes up the stairs. “Your asthma isn’t that bad anymore.”

Scott turned to Allison, looking adorably betrayed, and was quickly consoled by a peck on the cheek. Stiles snorted.

“Also, you should move those boxes to the kitchen,” Lydia said, from where she was perched on the couch, analyzing the various charts and maps she’d drawn up to orchestrate the move from New York City to the newly renovated Hale house. “They’re tagged in red, so that means kitchen.”

Scott acquiesced with poor grace, grumbling under his breath.

“A little help?” Stiles’ dad asked from the doorway, and Stiles and Allison immediately went over to help him with the TV. Once it was properly settled, he looked around at the mess of boxes and furniture. “Jesus, son. I never realized you had so much crap.”

“It’s not that much, dad! I mean, Derek and I have a lot of books, okay? And, like, Laura’s bound to come over a lot, so we had to have books for her, too, and also her favorite couch, but it’s actually super uncomfortable, so of course we had to get a couch for us, and…”

Stiles’ rant was cut off when he felt Derek’s arms coming around him.

“Hey,” Derek whispered, kissing his neck.

Stiles smiled so big he probably looked like a lunatic. “Hey,” he replied.

Everyone was looking at them, amused.

“Well, that’s one way to distract Stiles, but if I ever try it, Derek would probably kill me,” Scott said. 

“Okay, let’s give the lovebirds some time -- I could use a break, anyway,” Lydia said.

“But you haven’t actually done anything!” Scott exclaimed.

“Are you suggesting that the invaluable logistical support I gave is nothing?” Lydia asked him, narrowing her eyes.

“Uh, no. No, of course not,” Scott back-tracked. “Um. Do you want a milkshake? I’ll buy you a milkshake.”

With that, Scott, Allison, Lydia and Stiles’ dad walked out of the house, discussing whether they should go to the diner or to Lou’s cafe.

For his part, Stiles leaned back against Derek’s chest, taking in the house. 

He couldn’t believe they were finally here, after all the hassle -- Derek finding a place to do his residency at Beacon Hills Memorial, Stiles getting a teaching spot at the high school, an insane, across-the-country move… But they’d made it. The house was a mess, yes, but it was their mess. Laura was still in New York, waiting to hear if she’d get the job she’d applied for at the Beacon Hills D.A.’s office, but she’d probably get it and then she’d be able to come home at last. 

As for Derek and Stiles, well. Things weren’t perfect -- there were stupid fights over staying up too late playing WoW or shedding all over the couch when werewolf-ing, and less stupid fights over emotional availability and the fact that being human didn’t make Stiles _that_ fragile -- but they were real. They were _them_. And Stiles couldn’t have asked for anything more.

“You happy?” Stiles asked.

“Like I never thought I could be,” Derek replied.

Yeah. That about summed it up.

 

**the end.**


End file.
